Paint Smudged Overalls
by Fluttering Phalanges
Summary: While preparing the nursery for their unborn daughter, Sasha and Abraham get into a friendly argument about the perfect name.


**While at work, I felt this sudden urge to write an drabble of sorts about Sasha and Abraham because I miss them. And I like to write about babies so yeah, there's the inspiration for this. Hope you guys enjoy! Reviews and favorites are greatly appreciated! Also no offense to anyone named Brenda. It was the first random name that came to mind. -Jen**

"I might as well gone and got buck naked and rolled around in a tar pit the way this shit's sticking on me."

The stark contrast between the former army sergeant's intensely red hair and the purple paint that currently left an uneven mess of splatters and flecks across his skin and clothes was almost laughable. Sasha couldn't help but snort, shaking her head in the process as she smirked at her partner across the room. Abraham grunted as he pushed himself up off his knees and into a standing position. From his pocket, he retrieved a somewhat dirty rag and, mopping at his brow, leaned against an unpainted portion of a wall.

"I told you to wear long sleeves," she chided playfully. "But, as usual, you didn't listen."

"I know, I know," Abraham said, now attempting to scrub away at the dried paint on his hands. "I'm an idiot."

Sasha merely shook her head again, a warm smile melting across her features as she joined him at his side. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pushed herself as close to him as she could and held him there. He smelled heavily of sweat, but surprisingly it was a blessing in disguise. At least it masked the paint fumes well enough, she didn't feel dizzy.

"I never said that," Sasha replied, peering up at him. "But I do know what I'm talking about." She took one of his arms in hers, eyeing the tiny splotches that acted as freckles across his skin. Gently, she used her nail to scratch at a spot, but had little success. "Like I said," she grinned. "You should've worn long sleeves."

Abraham chuckled and moved his hands to rest on Sasha's sides. The swell of her belly made it hard to hug her properly, but it was a very much loved inconvenience. In the following weeks to come, there would be a new, third member to join their household. It was both an exciting and nerve-wracking time-mostly for Abraham. He worried a lot. About Sasha. The baby. Sometimes it kept him up at night. And though he'd never admit such fears to her, Sasha knew.

"How's the popcorn shrimp?" He asked, resting a hand on her stomach. "Wiggling much?"

"Not really a shrimp anymore," Sasha replied, taking his hand and moving it over to a spot where the baby had been particularly active. "Maybe a catfish…" Creative nicknames were more of Abraham's thing, so she did not hesitate to swat at him when he laughed at her poor attempt. "It would be so much easier if we had a name in mind."

"Yep," Abraham agreed, taking a deep breath before exhaling. "But you don't agree to any of my ideas."

"I'm not calling my daughter _Brenda_ ," Sasha replied, hands now on her hips. "We're not naming her after your prized pickup truck."

"Would it have made a difference if I didn't add that bit of information in?"

"No."

The frown she attempted is easily overshadowed by her hidden amusement. It'd been weeks now, ever since they came home from the clinic at Hilltop with the knowledge their baby would be a girl, that the debate for the perfect name had begun. At this point, though deep down she knew it wouldn't happen, a part of her was truly anxious that her child wouldn't ever get a proper name. There was only so long that someone could go by "baby" without any eyebrows being raised.

"We'll figure something out," Abraham stated as if noticing the concern in Sasha's features. "Eventually." He paused for a moment before adding. "And if we don't come up with something, we can always fall back on Brenda."

Sasha gave him a playful shove as she rolled her eyes. "Get back to nursery prepping," she said. "Before I cover you completely in that paint."

"Yes, ma'am," Abraham responded, giving her a salute before once more retrieving his paint brush.

Sasha watched him quietly, the genuine smile again appearing on her face. Smudged with paint, a mess across his clothes, she could not imagine a better father for her child. Even if said man wanted to curse their offspring with such an unappealing name as Brenda.


End file.
